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Relative Speed Case 22

Rolling along, in a ball bearing's gritty world hub,
 In Milky Way's knee cap,
 There is a chap,
He found a skipping before, a sun of no ultraviolet,
 Just grass brushed thighs. He found his eyes,
 With no blurry frames and plausible what-ifs,
 He is clapping for stumbles and leaps and muscles warm of use.
He looks at his surprise, at the beauty of its inevitability,
 A frameless form of changed origins,

 Splashing into his eyes

 The everything and nothing of clichéd colors,
And our chap gazes anew with the smirk of ages, and he gives a deep bow
 to the corny, for he finds old limits now beyond the last grain of a precipice
And our chap, at relative speed, alongside trucks and barns and within
 Touch of the Magellanic Clouds, jots down a few lines, with the
 Old judge's eyes behind his shoulders finally blind,
 The case opened, no appeal.

T. J. M. [1991]

Copyright © 1998 Tobin Jon Manley. All rights reserved.